Anarchy In The UK
by DanceLikeChildrenOfTheNight
Summary: "Sherlock? Why the hell is there a…" John flinched. Conversations that started with those words never ended well. He would know, he had them often enough.


Hey. So never return a Sherlock fic before but this just kind of came to me and I thought it was more Sherlock than Supernatural. Although in the back of my mind I can kind of see Cas doing something similar…. That could be fun….

Anyways tell me your thoughts and whether or not you think I have successfully captured that Sherlockian "feel". It's a lot harder to write than Supernatural I'll give it that…

Have fun…

XX

"Sherlock? Why the hell is there a…"

John flinched. Conversations that started with those words never ended well. He would know, he had them often enough.

"A what?" Came the innocent reply.

"You know what…" He growled in return.

"I assure you I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about"

John just rolled his eyes. "You know, you say that like it makes it better but really it doesn't. Now I know it's been sitting there for at least a couple of days."

Sherlock sighed, following him into the bathroom.

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"How interesting…"

He liked to think that he had grown from his time spent around Sherlock. Able to handle himself far more calmly and reasonably during times of great stress. This was not one of those times.

"Get them out of here _now_"

John crossed his arms and walked back into the "kitchen".

There was a large amount of scuffling coming from Sherlock but he chose to ignore it, instead, settling down at the table to wait for the kettle to boil. That was, until he heard a very troubling "uh oh" coming from the occupied bathroom.

He tossed up between ignoring a psychopath's cry of distress and helping a friend who was doing… that. "What?" He said gruffly, not allowing himself to actually _look _at what was going on. "Did you drop one?"

No, he would have heard the crunch. _Oh god what was happening to him?_

"Sherlock? What's wrong?"

"You're not going to like this"

"Don't tell me one's still alive. That's just sick"

"No… but Lestrade will be here in 5"

"Shit"

"My thoughts exactly. Although we really should work on your crude way of expressing yourself. Although I guess you _were _in the army and continue to use this as a sort of excuse which allows you to get away with…"

"Sherlock"

"Yes, John?"

"If you don't shut up, I _will not_ hesitate to ram one of them down your throat"

The detective grinned sadistically.

"Do you think it would squish or crunch?"

John remained stoic.

"Your throat? I'm not sure… it may still be a little squishy after I've _throttled the life out of you_"

Sherlock tilted his head to the side.

"If you were planning to choke me to death, why would you still shove a small dead thing down my throat? Doesn't that defeat the point?"

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. _Why did he put up with this again?_

"Well, you are always saying that murderers today have no creativity. I'm sure this will more than make up for it"

Sherlock was cut off from replying by a knock on the door. _Oh thank god._

He swung the door open to find Lestrade on the other side. _Or not._

"Morning boys" He said smiling. "Glad to see you're up and revving." He froze then, apparently sniffing. "What the hell is that smell?"

Sherlock grinned, John groaned.

"Oh you really don't want to…"

"Please, Inspector. Allow me to…"

They said simultaneously. Lestrade glanced behind him nervously as Sergeant Donovan walked into the flat. She too sniffed the air straight away, scrunching up her face.

"My god, Freak, what have you killed in here?"

"As much as I dearly wish I could say your boyfriend-"

"Not my boyfriend"

"-I'm afraid that is not the case. Now if we could stop wasting time discussing my experiments which I don't thinkI have the energy to explain to you, I believe you had a case for us."

"Plus you would probably run screaming if you knew what it was" John piped in.

Lestrade held up his hand to Donovan as she went to speak. "Ok, Sherlock. I know what you're doing is probably completely innocent…"

"Define innocent" John muttered darkly.

Lestrade's eyebrows pulled together. "But when I walk into the flat of our consulting detective who has known for being a bit… odd…" Everyone in the room snorted in response, including Sherlock. "and it stinks of rotting corpses, I am obligated to ask where it exactly it is coming from."

John shook his head in warning. "I would tell you if he was doing anything _illegal._" He began "and I'm pretty sure it's not. Its just… morally wrong."

Lestrade jittered nervously. "How morally wrong?"

John raised his head, staring the DI in the eyes, dead serious. "He slaughtered everything that is good and innocent in this world"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh stop being so dramatic, John. Its not _that _bad. I've done far worse."

John put his hands over his ears. "I don't want to hear that! I do _not _want to hear that!"

Lestrade let out a long-suffering sigh, waving them forward. "Take us to it then." He paused. "Sally, you uh… might want to stay back"

"And miss out on telling the whole force the latest addition to the Freak Show? No way" She smirked.

Sherlock lifted his chin, grinning in that slightly manic way he had, and led them to the bathroom.

Bad idea.

Sally screamed. Lestrade began dry retching.

"_In the name of all that is good…"_

_"Oh my god, oh my god…"_

John just smirked. He _had _warned them. He turned to Sherlock then, who was looking at them curiously, as if wondering what all the fuss was about.

"And we were just trying to prove that you're _not _a psychopath. Bath full of dead puppies doesn't tend to help."

Sherlock frowned. "It's not like I killed them myself! What's the big deal?"

John turned to him, coughed once, then opened his mouth to speak. The two officers on the other hand were in various stages of hyperventilation within the flat.

"Then where exactly did you _get _a bath tub full of dead puppies from?"

To be honest he really didn't think he wanted to know the answer.

Sherlock shrugged. "I volunteer at the pound every once in a while. A colleague of mine arranged for me to take them in exchange for a small case I took." John ogled him. "What? Its not like anyone was using them for anything. And there's only 7. Not exactly a tub _full._"

Lestrade chose that moment to topple back in, white faced and still swearing. "You have heartlessly butchered 7 tiny balls of happiness and joy. _How could you do that?"_

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Well I'm sure they're up eating candy canes and rainbows in dog heaven now, Lestrade. Now can we please get on with this case?"

The Detective Inspector bowed his head, taking deep breaths. In the kitchen he heard Sally throwing up in the sink.

Lestrade raised his head and pointed one shaking finger at Sherlock. "You better freakin hope so."

Slowly, the officer made his way out into the living room and flopped down on the couch next to where Sally was now rocking herself back and forth. "I think we can… save the case for tomorrow. Don't you?"

Sherlock grinned. "I think that should be fine" He glanced towards the 7 dead puppies sitting in their bathtub and picking up a scalpel from the kitchen table. "I'm sure I have enough to keep me occupied for a while."

And that was it. Both visitors raced from the room as fast as their legs could carry them, Sally blocking her ears and still screaming out abuse. Outside, they heard the sounds of scraping tires as the officers tried to get away as fast as they could.

Sherlock shook his head, sitting down gracefully on the couch. John didn't want him to say anything, he really didn't. But when he finally did, the doctor completely froze.

"Police officer for 7 years and he can't even recognise a real body when he sees one. How disappointing…"

John took a deep breath, then raised his head slowly. His voice was low and menacing. "What did you just say?"

Sherlock's grin grew. "You heard me."

John stood up carefully, making his way into the bathroom, hearing his friend get up and follow him.

Gently, John bent down and picked up one of the tiny bodies. He stared blankly at it. "They're stuffed…"

Sherlock groaned. "Of course they're stuffed! How disturbed do you think I am?" he said, laughing.

John sat down bonelessly on the bath tub as his friend laughed and ranted about how little trust everyone had in him and how easily fooled they are.

"… I mean if you lot had _any _sense then you would have noticed that the smell wasn't even _coming from in here…"_

John processed it in his mind, frowning. "Wait. Hold on. Then, what _was_ the smell?"

Sherlock paused, turning to stare at him. He grinned a feral grin, placing a hand on his pale friend's shoulder. "Trust me. If you can't handle dead puppies, you _do not _want to know."

XX

As always, reviews would be lovely. Please please please. 10 seconds is all it takes and I haven't had the benefit of a beta for this one so I could REALLY use some feedback. Thanks so much for reading :)

xx


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